


To Choose

by bodhirookandor



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, idk i wanted more finn content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookandor/pseuds/bodhirookandor
Summary: They have the right to choose. Like FN-2187 did before them.





	To Choose

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked me: What do you think Finn's actions (you know, defecting from the FO and going full on badass rebellion hero) would do to the stormtroopers left behind? How many do you think want to defect as well? How many do you think want to leave like he did and never return? What kind of effects does Finn's leaving have on the Stormtroopers?
> 
> I hope you like it anon.

_FN-2187_

“He’s a traitor,” Captain Phasma says, voice managing to be both sharp and detached at the same time, “a traitor to our glorious cause.” It’s a whisper, a frozen tundra of danger and warning. None of the stormtroopers say anything.

_FN-2187_

He’s one of them-or he used to be. He used to sit with them in the cafeteria, used to laugh at all of their jokes-no matter how ridiculous or not all that funny they were. He wasn’t particularly close with anyone, but he was nice. _Too nice._

He’d shined so brightly, warmth moving off him in waves. Even they could see that.

They stand in silence, watching as General Hux yells the importance of standing together, of showing defiance against the “rebel scum.” They put a picture of him on the screen, lips curling into a sneer, face red and eyes shining with anger. Or maybe it’s shame? None of the other stormtroopers can tell.

It’s not every day a stormtrooper leaves.

 _His name is Finn_.

His name becomes a whisper, a guarded secret they press deep into their hearts, a name he gave himself, a choice. 

They’re watched constantly; Kylo Ren stalking their every move like a monster cut from their nightmares. They say nothing though, lips sealed tight even as their lungs burn with so many questions.

 _His name is Finn_.

They don’t acknowledge it, but they breathe his name with a sort of reverence, a budding hope, warm and resilient like a flower. They tuck it into their soul, murmur it to each other.

_His name is Finn. And he’s in the resistance. He made a choice._

They see him in the battle field; watch on as he commands soldiers, as he saves more and more people. He’s remarkable, brilliant and bright like a nebula.

They wonder what it’s like to be so free.

“You don’t have to do this!” Finn exclaims, looking at them with something akin to frustration and fear. Not fear of them, no, but fear for his family, his friends. The people he’s chosen. 

‘What is it like?’ They wonder, looking at him hold a lightsaber in one hand, and the other holding onto someone else. ‘What is it like to choose?’ They stand still, blaster in their hands, loose and unsure like Finn was once upon a time. 

“You don’t have to shoot. You have a choice. You _have a choice_.” He holds out the hand that was holding his friend, faces it towards them, palm up. A warning? No, something else.

They don’t move.

_His name-he gave it to himself. He’s Finn. He’s Finn!_

They’re forced to go through reconditioning, forced to watch videos over and over again until their minds become numb. It’s cold and then warm, a gigantic mess of emotions and impressions. It’s numb. Everything’s numb.

 _His name is Finn_. _He had a choice. Maybe we can have one too._

They hold it into their soul, repeat it into their heads like a mantra. And hope is born.

* * *

Finn wakes. Eyes snapping open and heart hammering in his chest. His back _burns_ , cold fire licking his veins, a constant reminder of who he is and what he’s gone through.

‘My name is Finn. I made it out. I’m okay.’ He repeats this to himself, until his breathing slows, until he’s able to stop the slight tremor in his hands. 

“Finn?” Rey asks, voice hoarse with sleep.  She sits up and moves behind him, hands cautiously hovering over his back before finally resting on his shoulders. Finn hides the small smile curling on his lips, a swell of affection and fondness wrapping around his chest and squeezing. He grabs one of her hands and presses a kiss on her knuckles.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he begins, voice still trembling, “I just-uh-I don’t know.” He coughs once, trying to stop the feeling of _wrongness_ that fills him. There’s something off, something he can’t put into place, and it’s making his veins itch. Rey looks up at him, eyebrows creasing in concern. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it, together,” she says, before pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. It’s warm, a soft, featherlight flutter of lips across his skin and Finn can’t help the slow smile that crosses his face, can’t help the soft laugh. He’s not quite sure how she does it; how with a whisper and soft eyes, she’d blow passed his concerns, so sure that they’d be able to face whatever came their way. Together.

He holds her close in his arms the rest of the night, tries to inject some of his own love within the embrace. Neither of them say anything the rest of the night. Neither of them have to.

Finn holds Rey close and hopes whatever’s curling in his gut goes away. He closes his eyes, and hopes, even though he’s not sure it’ll help.

Things are shifting, twisting and turning and Finn wonders why no one else can see it.

* * *

_Finn. He calls himself Finn. How did he do it?_

They don’t talk about anything else. Their eyes dull and their hands growing cold around their blasters. They stare at their rifles, away from peering eyes. No one says anything. No one ever acknowledges it.

“He’s rebel _scum_! The worst of the worst! He left you to die! How many of our brethren died by his hand?” General Hux screams, face red and ugly with anger. He keeps talking, but they tune him out, minds wandering like they often do.

No one listens. Hux keeps screaming.

_Finn, could we choose our own names too?_

He’d opened the door; they wonder if they have the strength to walk through it.

* * *

“Finn, buddy, what’s wrong?” Poe asks, hand resting on the small of Finn’s back. Finn grits his teeth and shakes his head, breaths coming in short pants.

“I don’t-” he hisses, eyes screwing shut. He can’t articulate what he feels, the closest word is overwhelmed. With what he doesn’t know.

“Do you know where Jedi Master Luke is?” He asks, words ripped out of his throat, raw and desperate. They claw out of his mouth, harsh and biting. He can’t say anything else and Poe leads him towards Luke, hovering (although he’d deny it) in the background, worried.

“Finn? What’s wrong?” Luke asks, hands reaching out to steady him. Finn can’t talk, can barely breathe through the emotions filling his sense. Piercing blue eyes gaze into his own, _seeing_ him in a way that Finn will never get over. It’s alarming, so passionate and kind, a maelstrom of pure emotion. It swirls, pulls him deep into their depths until all Finn can see is blue.

“There’s been a shift,” Luke asks, voice distant, as though he’s saying it through water. 

“A shift?” Poe asks behind him. But Finn can’t hear them anymore. He can’t hear anything. 

He’s lost.

* * *

_What is it like to have a choice? What is it like to leave this place and lose yourself in the galaxy?_

They go through the motions, body moving on autopilot. They talk like they always do, although it’s forced; false smiles, oily and heavy rest on their faces. They tell jokes, although they all fall flat, no one else willing to laugh as hard as _he_ used to. 

“I assure you,” two of them overhear Captain Phasma say to an indignant Hux, “my troopers are loyal to a fault.”

“Oh? Loyal like FN-2187? I hear he calls himself Finn now.” General Hux spits, face practically turning purple. He smiles, and it sits wrong on his face too, like cracked glass. 

They turn around and walk away. 

Maybe they want to choose who they’re loyal to.

* * *

Finn _dreams_. 

He sees crashing water, harsh and powerful, blue and mesmerizing. He’s in it, in the center of something other than himself and Finn wonders what it’s like to gaze a true beauty. The water pulses once, dark blue and then purple. Finn sinks. 

And then he resurfaces. Only he’s somewhere he told himself he would never again return. He breathes, forcing himself to stay calm, even as his mind raced with the impossibility of his current situation. 

Stormtroopers mill about around him, readying themselves for bed. They remove their armor, skin glistening under fluorescent lighting. It takes him aback, how little things have changed. How easy it is to imagine himself among them. He could see himself in his minds eye, methodically removing his own armor, dark skin drenched with sweat. He’d laugh at a stupid joke Slips would say, only stopping when Nines hit the both of them on the back of the head.

Finn swallows, stamps down a wave of nausea, breathes through his rising panic and watches the stormtroopers in front of him. Something’s off, a subtle shift in the way they carry themselves. 

An alarm sounds and Finn watches with growing dread as the stormtroopers slowly rise and don their armor back on.

He knows exactly what that alarm is.

Filing behind the stormtroopers (and refusing to think about how familiar everything feels), Finn follows the crowd to a podium. Hux, Ren, Phasma and dozen other imperial officers stand tall on stage. A stormtrooper kneels in front of them, head bowed. It’s quiet, no words spoken among any of the stormtroopers. It’s silent, but Finn can _feel_ the miasma of pain and fear running through each and every soldier around him.

Bile rises in his throat.

“This,” Hux begins, practically purring, “is another traitor among us. They thought they could just _leave_  us and join the rebellion, like FN-2187. They thought they could betray us and live.” He stops once, eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. “They were wrong.” The helmet is ripped off and Finn locks eyes with the stormtrooper on stage. They look at him- _really_ look at him-and grin once, fierce and angry, terrified yet resolute.

“I refuse to bow down to an organization that tried to erase me. Erase all of us!” They scream, eyes burning with fire. “I was FN-2198, but I give myself a new name. I am-″ A blast hits them in the back. Their eyes hold his own even as they fall forward.

_no no no no no_

Finn can’t hear anything beyond the roaring in his ears.

Everything grows dark.

* * *

_What does it feel like? To be free?_

They’re watched even more closely, the slightest sneeze could mean being carted off and never seen again. They tip toe now, hold their dissenting thoughts close to the chest, fearing the people around them. It’s exhausting, a constant toll on their minds but they don’t know what to do.

They don’t know what they want to do.

That’s a lie. 

_What does it feel like? To be out of this armor? Away from steel walls and fluorescent lighting for more than a day?_

They’re haunted by brown eyes, haunted by the resolute scream of a man that knew he was going to die. They’re haunted, eyes growing dark behind their masks. They wonder...they wonder so much.

_“I refuse!”_

Could they refuse too?

* * *

Finn snaps his eyes open, pulse pounding in his ears. He sits upright, breaths clawing at his lungs. He can’t see anything passed his tears, can barely say a word through the sobs that wrack through his frame.

“Finn?” Rey and Poe ask at the same time, hands rubbing his shoulders. It anchors him, pulls him out of the gaping maw that are his emotions and Finn can feel himself calming down somewhat.

“He wanted to defect. He wanted to defect and they killed him. He saw me. _He saw me.”_ He keeps repeating those three words, rolls them around in his tongue, slurred and shaky. 

“Finn, buddy, I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?” Poe whispers, voice so soft and warm, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Just...Tell us what happened. You scared us.” Rey asks and Finn nods. He can do that. He can. He can definitely do that. 

“I was at the First Order Base,” he says, and then, blowing passed their shocked silence, he continues, “and they were executing a man. They said he was going to defect-going to come to us. Here. They said he was inspired by me.” He cuts himself off, unable to do anything but see beyond the grin of a man that’s not yet made peace with his death.

Guilt, irrational and angry, tears through him and Finn grits his teeth.

“Something’s changed,” Luke says suddenly, brining everyone’s attention to him. “A change that’s been long brewing.” He looks off into the distance before turning to look back at Finn. The open and honest concern that shines in his too blue eyes takes Finn aback.

How long will it be before he’s used to having people worry about him?

Finn manages a shaky smile.

* * *

Weeks pass and they tell themselves that they’re okay with this. That everything will sort itself out. Silence hovers over them, oppressive and cold and so many of them go missing only for new ones to take their place.

No one ever questions where the others end up.

“We have a mission,” Captain Phasma explains, body ramrod straight and iron clad. Shadows dance across her suit, ominous and foreboding all at once. They try not to notice. “We are to quell a growing rebellion. People have it in their minds that we are _weak_.” She pauses, helmet turning to look at each one of them. “Are we weak?” 

“No ma’am!” They answer in unison.

“No we are not.” She turns and walks away. They follow after her immediately.

* * *

“They’re attacking, we have to go _now_.” Finn hisses. He’d been on edge for weeks, body tense and words increasingly irritated. It’s as though something unsettled him, tilted him off course and now there’s nothing he could do to set himself right again. Nothing but wait.

He looks up at Leia, takes in her nonplussed expression and winces. 

“I apologize, I-”

“I was already going to tell you, kid. Now hurry up and do what you need to do.” Finn nods at her, sparing a smile at Luke, before turning and walking away.

“And Finn?” He looks back, blinking once to find Leia smiling at him. 

“Yes?”

“Stay safe.” He nods, and heads out, all the while ignoring the heavy feeling in his gut.

‘Please,’ he thinks, unsure of who exactly he’s speaking to, ‘please, don’t let this play out how I think it’s going to play out.’

* * *

They land, file out into the bright warm sun and are immediately assaulted by screams. They hesitate, hands loose around their blasters. It doesn’t feel right.

“What are you waiting for,” Phasma barks, voice slicing through the screams with ease, “shoot!” Most of them begin shooting immediately, shaking their heads and doing their jobs.

Others stand still, gripped by fear so cold it freezes their limbs, locks them into place like an adhesive. They couldn’t move even if they want to. 

They don’t want to.

“Shoot! I am commanding you to shoot!” Phasma yells.

_Shoot, before I shoot you._

They raise their blasters, fingers twitching on the trigger when they see him. He’s standing tall, breaths coming in short pants as he surveys the situation in front of him. He glances at them and their blaster suddenly feels ten times heavier.

‘You don’t have to do this!’ His eyes seem to say, boring into their own despite the helmet. ‘You have a choice!’

They don’t move.

Finn closes his eyes and the battle rages on around them.

* * *

He’d always been good at fighting, for strategy. Always had a knack for fighting to the best of his ability. Finn breathes deep and closes his eyes once before opening them again. They’d all made their choice, he’d just have to live with his own.

He moves across the battle field, moving civilians out of harms way. They thank him profusely as they leave, tears streaming down their faces. They call him a hero, a blessing from the Force and Finn can’t help the way his heart twinges.

“I’m not.” He tells them, helping a child out of harms way. “I’m just a guy doing what he thinks is right.” 

“Not many people do the right thing.” They reply. And Finn can’t respond to that so he’s quiet.

He cuts through the battle, heart hammering in his chest and lips closed even as every single death tears into him like a heated blade. He grits his teeth and keeps going. If even one civilian survives then their mission is a success.

Somehow through the fray he’s separated from the others. Finn keeps going, like he always does.

* * *

They can’t help but look at him, watch as he cuts his way into battle, sure and confident in a way they could never be. They grip their blasters loosely, torn. The battle slows down and they fired less than 3 times. 

_Could they really make the choice?_

Phasma and a dozen other troopers surround him and they watch.

_Does the air smell better, is it less heavy, when you’re free?_

* * *

He’s surrounded on all sides and can practically feel the smug satisfaction oozing out of Phasma.

“My,” she begins, and Finn can just imagine that creeping smile on her face, “how the tables have turned.” Finn raises his chin, even though fear collapses onto his shoulders and defeat lick at his heels. 

“Phasma,” he grins, although it’s empty, too much teeth to be friendly, “why am I unsurprised to see you doing something like this?”

“I am merely quelling a disagreement.” She explains, monotone. Finn laughs, harsh and angry.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, looking at the other troopers. “You have a choice here. You don’t have to follow here. You _always have a choice_.” No one moves. It’s quiet, all other sounds sucked out until it’s them. Finn, standing tall, even though he’d much rather collapse into nothingness, at the sight of everything he once was, everything he’d once been a part of.

“I refused to kill for them. Will you?” No one says anything. Finn can’t say he’s surprised.

Phasma walks up to him, slow and deliberate. The soft clanging of her boots sets his teeth on edge but he refuses to let it show.

“I was going to kill you here. But I think it’d set a better example if we execute you publicly.” She motions for the stormtroopers to grab him but no one moves. 

“FN-3156, FN-3181, disarm him and walk him towards the ship.” Phasma explains, voice powerful and deadly like a tornado. Two stormtroopers move closer to him, their steps unsure. Finn tracks their movement, shifting his weight just slightly. He may not make it out of this alive, but he’d be damned if he let them take him without a fight. 

A shot rings out, loud and clear.

* * *

_His name is Finn. He defected. He made a life for himself. We can do that too._

They look at one another, and nod. 

_It takes one little spark to set the whole thing on fire._

* * *

Finn acts fast, disarming the two stormtroopers in front of him as everyone turns to look at Phasma’s falling body. He slams his hand down on one of their wrists, ignoring their pained grunt and then downs the other in quick succession. It happens in the span of 30 seconds.

No one moves during that time. 

He looks at the other stormtroopers around him and one by one they drop their weapons. A clear sign.

Finn can’t help the large smile that blossoms on his face.

* * *

_We made our choice._

They remove their helmets one by one, blinking harshly at the intense rays of the sun.

“You get used to it,” Finn explains, eyes so kind and open they wonder how he even exists. “I’m Finn,” he says, as if they don’t know who he is. As if they could ever forget who he is.

One of them steps forward, cautious and unsure. She’s young, barely 18 years and yet her eyes are dark with untold horrors.

“I’m FN-9330,” she begins, body ramrod straight and tense, “I was hoping,” she turns to look at them before turning back to Finn, “we were hoping if we could join you.” Her voice grows small towards the end, tucked in on itself like all of them feel. Finn’s smile grows even larger, his eyes twinkling brighter than any star they’d seen.

“You can do whatever you want. Aside killing people of course,” he chuckles, and they find themselves chuckling along, light in a way they hadn’t ever felt.

“It’s your choice.” He says at last, words heavy and meaningful. 

No one says anything. One of them steps forward and the rest follow suit.

* * *

_He holds the blaster in his hands, but his grip is loose, panic and despair rising to a crescendo within him. Screams light up the night sky and FN-2187 can’t help but silently cry with them._

_He can’t do this. He won’t do this._

_His blaster points to the ground. He doesn’t shoot a single thing._

_Something inside him snaps, broken in two and burning hot. He gasps, legs wobbling from the surge of energy._

_Finn awakens that night, admist cries and flames, and every single match around him alights._


End file.
